“Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.”

I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won.

There Is No God. This negation must be understood solely to affect a creative Deity. The hypothesis of a pervading Spirit co-eternal with the universe remains unshaken.

The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors.

Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.

Fame, power, and gold, are loved for their own sakes – are worshipped with a blind, habitual idolatry.

All love is sweet Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever.

Heaven’s ebon vault Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon’s unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread To curtain her sleeping world.

I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers.

When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead – When the cloud is scattered The rainbow’s glory is shed.

Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.

It is not a merit to tolerate, but rather a crime to be intolerant.

Sometimes The Devil is a gentleman.

The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying.

When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid – in which case all comment is superfluous – or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.

Love’s very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.

The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poorer; and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism.

The more you mow us down, the more numerous we grow; the blood of Christians is seed.

I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me.

I don’t mind if my life goes in the service of the nation. If I die, every drop of my blood will invigorate the nation.

Sometimes it is easier to feel the veins wilted and empty than to sense the coldness of blood in fear.

Human beings are made up of flesh and blood, and a miracle fiber called courage.

A pint of sweat will save a gallon of blood.

Nothing on this earth is worth buying at the price of human blood.

I can feel her resurrecting. The one he thought he had killed. Strength realised in her resting. It was worth all the blood spilled.